


Pearl of Peril

by hiiamron



Category: Return of the Obra Dinn (Video Game), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Boats and Ships, Death, Drinking to Cope, Fantasy, I don't know nautical stuff so please excuse me, I researched a bit but still, M/M, Mermaids, Mild Gore, Mystery, Taehyung does not make an entrance until later, This is set in the 1800s and I don't know too much about that either, This story is very Jimin-centric, War, vmin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26864284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiiamron/pseuds/hiiamron
Summary: The year is 1807 and Park Jimin lives in the shabbier part of London, earning his keep at a nearby pub to make ends meet. He is a simple young man with simple problems. Blissfully ignorant to the fact that he is the key of the land, the sea and the war fought in between. Unplanned and unwilling is he thrust head-first into adventure, love and other terrors.
Relationships: Kim Taehyung | V/Park Jimin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Pearl of Peril

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I have based large chunks of dialogue and situations on the game Return of the Obra Dinn – actually, I have straight up copied some parts. That is a brilliant game and the creator, Lucas Pope, is a genius. I will probably not make this story as cool as his game but I'll do my very best to come close.
> 
> Hi I am Ron and this is my first fic posted here. Comments and kudos are fuels to the writing engine, so if you like this first chapter it would bring my spirits up to read your thoughts and reactions to this fic. Thank you and I hope you enjoy!

_Pub in lower class London._

Just as another wave of heavy exhaustion slid down Jimin’s spine, one of the more inebriated patrons stumbled to the bar to deal him a glare while his beer sloshed in its glass.

“My dear boy,” the wrinkly man rasped through a toothless mouth. Jimin looked up at him from where he was wiping a stubborn stain from the bar top, one brow rising high. “You... you have the Pearl of Peril, boy. Has anyone ever told ye?”

Jimin did not know what the man was on about and he was far from curious enough to figure it out, so he refocused on the stain and rubbed at it again with the stained rag. “Can’t say anyone has. Also we close in fifteen, so kindly finish your drink, sir.”

Just when he was about to give up on the stain and turn to the wash basin behind him, the man reached a worn hand across the bar and caught Jimin’s wrist. He felt a scowl and a protest burgeoning but the other cut him off.

“Haven’t ya ever wondered why yer always so drawn to the sea?”

Panic bloomed inside Jimin’s chest and he wanted to escape this man and his madness. “I-I don’t see how that is so unique for someone born and raised near the coast.”

The old man interpreted Jimin’s panic as confirmation of his ludicrous suspicions. He looked almost smug. “There’s a glint in yer eye when you move yer gaze, aye. A glint that quivers; a pearl. One that can see things yet to come.”

The only thing keeping Jimin from laughing hysterically in the man’s face was the cold, unpleasant lump suddenly lodged in his throat. “If that were t-true, I’d have brought an umbrella this morning,” he huffed with false bravado, “and spare myself the risk of a cold. Or peril of a cold, should I say.”

“You mock me words, you mock yer gift. But heed me warning, ye imbecile,” with dark eyes and darker threats, the man trapped Jimin in something close to fear. “Meself is too old to chase gifts like yours, but others are not. They will cut yer eyes out for those pearls, scoop ‘em out of their sockets and cut ‘em open for their secrets. Sea folk as well as them on land. All to get the upper hand in the war they’re fighting.”

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. We have officially closed and I still have some chores to do. So, please. you’ll find the door to your right.”

Finally, the man relented his grip on Jimin’s wrist. “Fine, I’ll go. If ye choose not believe me, that’s yer choice. ‘night.” He took a short few steps to the door and muttered something that sounded like _I should cut his eyes out jus’ for being a brat_ and then he was gone. The door swung shut behind him and Jimin exhaled a sigh of relief. What a nutcase.

He gathered the man’s half-empty glass and a few others from tables further back, returning them to the dishing area. He completed all the chores of closing the tiny pub per muscle memory, mind blank and tired. 

As he walked the pebbled alleyway home and tugged his coat against the chilly air, the sun kissed the skies into a blush.

  
  
  


_Home._

Jimin pushed open the door to the attic adjacent to the hospital rooms of St. Charlie’s. This attic had housed Jimin and his father since they had set foot on british soil, it had been Jimin’s home for more than half his life. He could just barely remember his homeland.

By the spindly table at the room’s centre sat Jimin’s father, blowing steam from a bowl of porridge. He nodded at Jimin’s entrance.

“Welcome home, son.”

Jimin offered him a smile, sleepiness weighing on the corners. He took the short few steps to the basin, removed his shirt and dipped it into the cool water, pushing it against the skin of his neck to remove sweat and dirt.

“Jimin-ah, how long do you plan to work in that wretched pub?” his father began. Again.

“Until I have saved enough for the dance academy’s tuition, appa. As you know.” Jimin tried to not let out all the frustration he felt from revisiting this conversation. 

“But you know that even with formal dance education, only a very little percent actually become successful? A more secure career would be better for you.”

“Yeah, I know, appa.” Jimin sighed and cupped his hands in the water to splash his face with while his father opted to quietly finish his breakfast. 

When he had finished, he cleared the table and changed into his working clothes, ready to leave for his workday. Before closing the door behind himself, he said, “I hope you see my care for you for what it is, Jimin-ah. I love you, sleep well.”

Jimin wished he did not feel so hollow from hearing such kind things. He wished achieving his dream was not the opposite of making his father happy and proud. 

He watched his face on the stilling surface in the basin, looking for a quiver of something insane there. He felt silly when all he saw was the same brown eyes that had always met him in the looking-glass.

What a night he had had.

_Thames Shore._

A couple of weeks passed, nights spent pouring beer, afternoons spent practicing dance and whenever the disagreement between him and his father arose, he would take a walk down and sit by the Thames to clear his head of anger. The tinkling music of water was not identical to the seashore he had had the privilege of living close to in the homeland nor was it strong enough to drown the noise of an industrial city the size of London, but it did help soothe him. Ever since the old man had paid him a visit at the bar however, the Thames had had a more difficult time soothing him. He had always felt drawn to the vast ocean, had always felt a calling. _Perhaps I should’ve aimed for a nautical career instead_ , Jimin thought jokingly to shake himself of the eerie feeling that had crept over him from the memory of the man’s words.

Suddenly he noticed the sound of a pair of footsteps, separate from the bustling noise of the nearby street, coming closer and closer. He turned around to see a man approaching him. He was quite built, clad in grey working clothes and a hat pulled low over his eyes. 

“Oi, young fellow! How do you do?” the man said when he was near enough. He had a rather gruff voice, as if it needed to pass obstacles on its way up his throat.

“I’m alright...?” Jimin trailed off into a question, wondering what this man could want with him.

“Sucha strappin’ young lad, I could ‘ave a gig for you if yer interested,” the man sat down next to Jimin, uninvited. “Needs a pair o’ strong legs and arms, an’ a keen eye for detail. The coin is good, too.”

Jimn let his eyes flick to the sizable arms of the newcomer, bewilderment increasing.

“Well, that’s very kind of you, sir–”

“I know! That’s what they call me, Kind Tom.” He extended his hand, which Jimin was too polite to refuse. “Thomas Hickman, Transport Official for british importation with the East India Company, nice ta meetcha.” They shook hands.

“Well, Mr Hickman sir, as kind as your offer is, I think I have to decline. I already have employment you see.”

“Aye, sure, at a rundown pub where the patrons all but piss on yer hard work. Sounds just golly.”

Jimin’s head whipped around, alarmed. “How do you know where I work?”

“Um, well. I was there the other day, lad. Must’ve not seen me and me mates.” Unlikely. Jimin had a good memory for faces. Hickman shrugged. “Thought you might want summat better working conditions and payment than whatcha got now.”

Jimin could not deny that there was truth in the man’s words. Still, this entire interaction felt dodgy.

“Mr Hickman, I’m alright. Thank you for your offer and good luck to finding another fellow. I best be going now.” Jimin rose from his seat on the ground and waved the stranger farewell.

He had taken four steps away when he was struck at the back of the head, pain blooming across his cranium before everything turned dark.

_Unknown location._

He woke up in a strange place, dark and damp. His head was pounding a rhythmic drum somewhere at the back. He was strapped to a chair and placed in front of a table, atop where a gas lamp glowed steadily. He looked around and felt his headache worsen with the movement. He was unable to discern anything about his location from his surroundings alone, only four walls apparent. He tried struggling against the bonds but they were too strong.

Behind him, a door swung open with a tortured shriek, hinges deprived of the oil they badly craved. Thomas Hickman walked around him to pull out the other chair across from Jimin, two new menacing blokes trailing behind him. The door swung shut with another cry. Hickman slid into the seat and folded his hands on the table between them. 

“I don’t know who you are or what you’re on, but let me go–”

“Let me rephrase, Jimin Park. This job opportunity for you wasna an offer,” Hickman cut him off.

They sat in silence, Jimin unable to believe the situation he had tripped into.

“Let. Me. Go,” Jimin said in a low voice. Then, louder and more panicked while he thrashed against his restraints, “Let me go! Let me go!” He pushed forcefully off the ground with his feet, tipping the chair and falling to the concrete with it. Hickman sighed.

“John, wouldya lend Mr Park a hand,” he sounded bored. One of his companions trudged over to Jimin tied to the fallen chair, pushing it upright again. As reprimand, Jimin was punched, the man’s fist descending on his face in a flash and the impact had painfully bright colours swirl in the right side of his vision. He cried out from the pain, the punch also increasing the fading headache by tenfold. He felt disoriented and blinked several times but opted to keep his right eye closed, stabilising his remaining sight.

Hickman stood up and approached the man, backhanded him and hissed, “Careful with the _eyes_ .” Then he faced Jimin again, “I hear your father is a rather honourable man? Working in _that_ hospital every day of the year when he is so overqualified.” Dread settled thick and heavy in Jimin’s stomach. “I suppose he couldna charm the rich hospitals and universities with such poor english,” Hickman mused and walked slowly back to his seat. “Shame if some tragic accident befell him… that ‘St. Charlie’s’ building is quite tall, after all.”

Jimin sat stock-still, staring one-eyed and unable to feel much of anything, regardless of the bruise he could imagine forming over his right eye. He just knew that he needed to keep his father safe. His wonderful, caring and hardworking father. Whatever the cost.

“What’s required of me?” Jimin spoke solemnly. “Some manual labour like you mentioned before?” 

“I knew you’d come to yer senses, lad.” Hickman nodded approvingly. “As you know, we work for the Honourable East India Company, mainly with the import of teas and silks from the Orient. A few months ago we lost a cargo ship on its way east with crew, passengers and various trading materials. It never reached its rendezvous point in Cape Town but has instead been sighted near the Cornish coast a week ago. From our reports, not a soul is aboard the ship. We’ve hired an insurance inspector to determine the worth of what’s left. I want you to go with him and write me a report of the fate of the crew, the ship and the cargo. We’ll provide you with transportation and protection.”

Protection? Why would he _need_ protection? Jimin swallowed and asked instead, “How long will this job take?”

Hickman’s brow furrowed in calculation. “Depends on how fast you work, laddie. The journey there takes ‘bout three days by sail. You’ll take the Thames east to reach the sea, then turn round and follow the english canal until you arrive in Cornwall. After that, everything else is dependent on your diligent work. I’d suggest saying farewell to your father and taking leave of your employment at the pub. Four EIC employees, Emile Linton and yourself have cabins booked on a voyage in two days.”

  
  


_Passage to Cornwall._

Emile Linton, the insurance inspector, was a peculiar fellow. He was leanly built, shorter than Jimin and had the smooth voice of a tenor. He looked proper in all the ways a businessman would. His fair countenance made it impossible to gauge his age, looking young yet acting wisely and speaking intellectually. Jimin liked him instantly, despite the questionable characters he had met recently. 

The two boys boarded the ship together, having their luggage carried by the EIC employees. 

And so Jimin, with an eyepatch over his black eye’s dressings and poisonous worry in his heart, embarked on the journey that changed his life forever.

  
  



End file.
